Adams' Greatest Contribution
by Sarah1281
Summary: "Congratulations, John. You just made your greatest contribution to Independence: you kept your flap shut." And so he did but it was a long, LONG thirty days before Lee returned with the resolution on independency. At least they had Sundays off. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

Adams' Greatest Contribution

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own 1776.

Note: This is a two-shot.

**Thursday May 9, 1776**

John Adams, the only representative from Massachusetts who could be counted on to attend Congress every day, wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. Lee had left for the House of Burgesses not an hour before (after he made a quick stop home) and that was 300 miles away. In his experience, that meant that the trip would take eight days both ways although given that Lee's defining characteristic was enthusiasm, it was entirely possible that he could shave some time off that estimate. Still, to be on the conservative side for once he'd factor in sixteen days travel time, one day with his wife, and then at least another four to convince the House of Burgesses to give him a nice non-Bostonian resolution on Independence.

Three weeks. At _best_, Adams had to wait three weeks before the matter of independence could be brought up again.

Now, while promising that he wouldn't bring the controversial subject up until Lee's return to give the Congressmen some time to disassociate independence from Adams himself didn't necessarily mean remaining silent at Congress, Adams felt that it was probably a good idea to keep his speech to a minimum. After all, he did feel very passionately about the issue – to put it mildly – and it would be difficult not to bring it up when his fellow Congressmen clearly had nothing better to do than engage in a lively debate about whether or not the heat was worse than the flies. Not to mention, of course, that he didn't really have much to say about such trivial matters as that or whether the Rhode Island militia should be required to wear matching uniforms.

Franklin didn't think he could do it and even now was smirking at him but he'd show him. He was capable of some self-control, after all, whatever Franklin or the others thought.

"Now, due to more pressing matters last night we forewent the vote on General Washington's request," Hancock announced. "All those in favor…"

Good god.

**Friday May 10, 1776**

Adams had survived one day of valiantly resisting the impulse to knock heads together until his fellow began to see sense but he knew he'd have plenty more before this was done. Lee had better come through for them.

One thing that staying quiet seemed to be doing was affording him the opportunity to notice things he never had before. Usually he spent his time in Congress arguing with everything Dickinson said (and vice versa, of course) and fighting the strange urge to strangle Rutledge but now that he was trying to stay uninvolved and the discussion was much less contentious now that he wasn't bringing up the real issues, he could pay more attention to what everyone else was doing. Admittedly, normally he would have better things to do but since for the next few weeks he sadly _didn't_…

"Well?" Livingston asked, not sounding very hopeful.

Morris merely shook his head.

"Still? It's been…why it's been exactly a year today since Congress convened!" Livingston exclaimed.

"I know but are you really surprised?" Morris returned.

Livingston sighed. "No, I suppose not. It's actually a minor miracle that the legislature managed to get it together long enough to send us to this Congress in the first place."

"Refusing to let them leave until they had picked someone might have been a little, shall we say, drastic but it also worked wonders," Morris remarked. "It almost makes you wish that someone would have the sense to do that again and get us some actual instructions."

"I know," Livingston agreed. "Every time there's a vote, our lack of instructions causes problems. What's more, I'm getting the distinct feeling that our fellow Congressmen are beginning to lose their patience."

"Well, what are we supposed to do?" Morris demanded. "It's not like we're abstaining from any important vote just to annoy them. We haven't been authorized to vote yes, we haven't been authorized to vote no, and we haven't been authorized to vote according to our own convictions."

"My wife's expecting soon," Livingston announced. "Within the next month or so I should be returning to New York to see her and the child. I can stop by the legislature and see if they really don't have even the slightest bit of advice for us then."

"Good idea," Morris said approvingly. "If nothing else, it will be a lot harder to ignore your request when you're standing right there waiting for an answer than it is to ignore one of our dozens of missives."

"But if anyone can do it, the New York legislature can," Livingston pointed out. "Or they'll all try to offer their advice at once and I won't be able to hear any of them."

"So we'd be instruction-less either way," Morris mused. "While this isn't exactly unusual behavior for the legislature, I think they may actually have a reason they're avoiding giving us anything concrete."

Livingston raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh?"

Morris nodded. "Indeed. The British fleet is nearby and last we heard, Washington's army was close to New York as well. They probably don't want to provoke an attack."

"I think you may be right," Livingston conceded. "That doesn't really help us out here, though. Honestly, we might as well not even be here if we can't contribute."

"What do you think it would be like to be representing one of the other colonies?" Morris asked wistfully. "Any of them, really."

They were silent for a moment as they imagined it.

"One thing I do know is that if we keep abstaining – which we will – then one of these days someone is going to hit us," Livingston predicted.

"Perhaps I shall start abstaining courteously," Morris mused.

**Saturday May 11, 1776**

It was day three and with any luck Lee was halfway to Virginia by now…assuming he hadn't felt the need to stop and pontificate about his family while amusing himself by working as many adverbs into the speech as possible, which was always a worry with him. Lee meant well but he could just be so easily distracted sometimes.

Hopkins had been at the rum again. Really, the Congressional rum stores might as well have been Rhode Island's rum stores that the other colonies occasionally were given leave to partake of. Adams never did during sessions as he was fighting an uphill battle and needed to be at his best. Hopkins might have been firmly on the side of independence but he knew that there were others to do most of the arguing for him and didn't seem to care a whit what anyone thought of him anyway. That was a very useful viewpoint though Adams doubted he would ever be able to really adopt it.

"So Ben, what _is_ the story?" Hopkins asked idly.

Franklin, who had been pretending to be asleep, opened one eye. "What story?"

"The story about Johnny there and Hancock," Hopkins elaborated. "I know that now Johnny annoys the living daylights out of him but didn't they use to be friends? Or was that his cousin?"

"Why don't you go ask one of them?" Franklin suggested. "It's always best to get these things straight from the source."

"I would but Hancock's in the middle of something and you can't just ask a man why he's so obnoxious and disliked," Hopkins said matter-of-factly. "In any event, if he knew he probably wouldn't be."

Oh, Franklin was enjoying this very much, wasn't he?

"Well, Hancock was the protégé of Sam Adams," Franklin explained. "But he did know John as well who, I believe, defended him from charges of unloading 100 pipes of wine without paying duties."

"Wine, huh?" Hopkins repeated.

Franklin nodded. "Indeed. Had he been convicted, he would have had to pay a penalty of £9,000…triple the cost of the wine. After five months, however, the charges were mysteriously dropped."

"Isn't that just typical? Wasting everyone's time like that," Hopkins said, disgusted. "So you'd think they'd be on pretty good terms after that."

"For awhile," Franklin agreed. "But then, well…"

"Well?" Hopkins prompted.

"Hancock wanted Washington's job," Franklin continued, "and Adams was the one who nominated Washington."

"What, so being president of Congress wasn't enough?" Hopkins asked, surprised.

Franklin shrugged. "Apparently not. I don't understand it myself as I'd much rather be in here than on the battlefield and if General Washington's dispatches are any indication, so would he. Hancock understands, of course, that Washington was the only one of us with any military experience and that he wasn't from New England so choosing him made it look less like New England's war but he's never quite forgiven Adams for it."

"Tough break," Hopkins said before he stood to go get some more rum.

**Monday May 13, 1776**

There hadn't been a session of Congress yesterday and Adams made up for his previous silence by talking a great deal then. It wasn't really that he had much to say not on the subject of independency, but keeping still was simply not in his nature.

Apparently, he hadn't been the only one to notice this.

"Mr. Adams, I do hate to pry but it occurs to me that you've been unusually quiet recently and it would be most ungentlemanly not to inquire as to whether or not you are alright," Rutledge declared. It wasn't actually an inquiry, Adams noted, but it would probably be treated like one.

"I'm fine," he said shortly.

"Now that he mentions it, you have been awfully quiet these past few days," Dickinson realized. "I hadn't noticed because we were actually being productive but now that I think on it, that may be why. What do you think, James?"

"Well, I-" Wilson started to reply.

As usual, Dickinson's question had mostly been to give him the excuse to say something about Adams or independency without talking to himself or addressing Adams personally. "I do _so_ hope that when you regain your health, our productivity will not decline accordingly."

"There is nothing wrong with my health," Adams snapped.

"Are you sure, Johnny?" Hopkins asked, looking vaguely concerned as he downed another rum. "Because if you're not then I can always refer you to one of them doctors people are always sending my way for whatever reason."

"If I need one, I'll let you know," Adams promised.

"I might need one," Franklin murmured. "It never hurts to have too many opinions, after all, and if any of them can do something about this swelling then I'll consider it money well-spent."

"Mr. Adams, to settle this once and for all: you have shown up for Congress every day since it's been called into session and surely missing one day won't be the end of the world," Hancock said reasonably. "Are you feeling ill or can we move on?"

"I'm _fine_," Adams insisted. Honestly, he'd been trying to hold his tongue for half a week and people were trying to figure out what was wrong with him.

Franklin smiled knowingly.

**Tuesday May 14, 1776**

No one said anything about his health today although he did get a few strange glances. Adams' own strange glances were reserved for when Judge Wilson left the Pennsylvania table and moved over to the Virginia delegation at one point. As Lee had left, Jefferson was the only man there and he had been staring at the same spot on the opposite wall, barely blinking, for three hours. It was clear he wasn't listening and it was equally apparent that Wilson didn't notice, didn't care, or both.

As it was, Adams was probably – depending on whether or not Franklin was really asleep or just pretending again – the only one who was paying the slightest bit of attention now. Adams had always thought that Franklin's preference to watching things happen in the background was odd but now he was certain of it. Less than a week in and he was bored out of his mind already and Franklin did this intentionally? All the time?

"Don't get me wrong," Wilson was telling the oblivious Jefferson earnestly. "I know just how important I am…or at least my position. Dr. Franklin is one of the leaders for the independence movement even if being from an anti-independence colony weakens his position and John is the leader for the anti-independence movement. It's up to me to decide where Pennsylvania will fall."

Adams hadn't really given that much thought but he supposed that Wilson was right. He would certainly be easier to win over than Dickinson at any rate.

"I'm not really comfortable with that kind of responsibility but only four colonies are in favor of independence so it's not like it's _too_ important. Besides, John always knows best," Wilson said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. "It's just…sometimes I get the feeling he doesn't always appreciate me."

If the way Jefferson was still staring vacantly in front of him was any indication, he was appreciating Wilson infinitely less than Dickinson ever did.

"I mean, it's fine when we're alone," Wilson said defensively. "But when we're in front of other people, and especially when we're here, he seems almost embarrassed by me. Granted, I should probably make a bigger effort to remember that I cannot second his motions and that if any motions our side needs seconding for can be seconded by John but it's not just that. He asks me all sorts of questions and then whenever I try to answer he cuts me off and keeps talking. If he didn't want to hear my opinion, why did he even ask me in the first place?"

Still, Jefferson said nothing.

"I don't think he means to be or anything, he just gets a little caught up in his role as leader of the reconciliation movement." Wilson sighed. "You're a good listener, Mr. Jefferson. Thank you for not judging."

**Wednesday May 15, 1776**

Pennsylvania wasn't the only delegation divided but they were positively harmonious compared to the Delaware delegation which was going at it again. Rodney's illness kept him from getting too worked up even if he wanted to but Colonel McKean certainly didn't have that problem and Read always allowed himself to be baited.

"Why do you keep seconding everything Dickinson proposes?" McKean demanded.

"Because Judge Wilson cannot do it no matter how many times he tries and Rutledge thought it would be only gentlemanly of me to do what I can to support their cause since I cannot vote for them," Read declared.

"Too right you can't," McKean growled, hoisting his gun up.

Read eyed it nervously. "Are you…are you threatening me?" He turned to Rodney. "He's threatening me!"

Rodney glanced over to see McKean fiddling with his firearm. "It doesn't look like he's threatening you."

"How can it not look like he's threatening me?" Read demanded. "He told me I wasn't going to be able to vote according to my wishes and then he held up his gun!"

"It's a coincidence," Rodney assured him. "He's just pointing out the facts that, as Colonel McKean and I are agreed and you are opposed, you won't get to decide Delaware's vote."

"And the gun?" Read pressed.

"Colonel McKean is very attached to it, right?" Rodney prompted.

McKean nodded. "Oh, yes. If you want an effective firearm then you're going to need to make sure that it's well-maintained and proper maintenance takes time. Since we spend so much time here in Congress, why not work on it here?"

"So you're really denying that you're threatening me," Read said skeptically.

McKean nodded. "Oh, absolutely. I am most certainly not tempted to shoot you whenever you second one of Dickinson's motions just so that you stop making us look bad and so that Rutledge would have to actually commit to something for once."

Read stared at McKean and, more specifically, his lethal weapon in horror before turning back to Rodney. "Did you hear that?"

"Now what's the problem?" Rodney queried. "He just said that he _didn't _think any of that."

**Thursday May 16, 1776**

Including the day he had left, it had now been eight days since Lee had departed. At best, he was at home with his wife right now. There was a little over half of the time to go and while Adams was seriously reconsidering if it was worth it, he had come too far now to give up so easily…even if the one of the people he was currently listening to was the smug snake Rutledge himself.

"All these men complaining about the heat," Hewes was scoffing. "I'd like to see one of them try to survive a good old-fashioned southern summer."

Rutledge nodded and elegantly fanned himself. "It is most ungentlemanly to complain about the weather. Rather, they should put on a stoic face and get down to business."

"I just don't understand these northerners," Hewes said, shaking his head sadly. "They're never very concerned with gentlemanly behavior."

"It's not that some aren't concerned with it," Rutledge corrected. "Mr. Read from Delaware, for instance, was very interested when we spoke earlier. They just haven't been taught proper gentlemanly conduct, is all, and we must endeavor to correct this wherever we are able."

Predictably, Hewes nodded his agreement. "Oh, of course. To think, if we can help spread knowledge of gentlemanly conduct among this Congress than there may be hope for our sister colonies yet."

Rutledge nodded. "For some of them, perhaps. For others…well, I can just tell from their general appearance and from their manner that we're a few decades too late."

"Is it gentlemanly to feel sorry that they will never be able to become true gentlemen no matter how hard they strive for it?" Hewes wondered.

Adams rolled his eyes. This was easily one of the most insipid conversations he'd had the misfortune of observing for quite some time and it just further proved that Hewes blindly followed Rutledge…as if the way that he continually yielded to him whenever a vote came up didn't already make that perfectly obvious. One of these days, Hancock was going to get tired of the constant and inevitable yielding and just put South Carolina above North Carolina in the order.

Rutledge smiled kindly. "It most certainly is gentlemanly to feel compassion for those less fortunate than yourself. Have hope, though: usually those most ill-equipped to become gentlemen are those least inclined to try."

Hewes nodded solemnly at this sagacity.

Oh, good God.

**Friday May 17, 1776**

By now, with any luck, Lee was in Williamsburg convincing the Virginia legislature to pass a resolution on independency. Virginia was in support of independency, of course, but there must be a reason they had not formally passed a resolution to this effect before and Adams didn't know if Lee would be able to convince them to stop playing it safe and to take a stand. He seemed very sure of himself, of course, but would that be enough? And how much help would someone who couldn't get through an adverb without making a pun be, anyway? Either way, there hadn't been enough time for Lee to make it back yet and so he'd just have to wait. But by God, if Lee returned in failure after what Adams had suffered and would continue to suffer then he would be better off staying in Williamsburg.

"Is Georgia even coming?" Hancock wondered. "They didn't attend the first Congress. Are we positive that they're planning on making an appearance here?"

"We in South Carolina received word that they were planning on sending a delegation," Rutledge confirmed. "And it would be most ungentlemanly for Georgia to break their word like that, especially without letting everyone know. As they are from the Deep South, I know that we can count on them to behave in a most gentlemanly manner."

"Most certainly," Hewes concurred.

It occurred to Adams that he was almost Rutledge's Wilson.

"Is it 'gentlemanly' to arrive so late?" Hancock countered. "And without, as you said, letting everyone know why?"

Rutledge didn't seem to hear the question.

"And then, of course, New Jersey is still absent. Do we know anything about that?" Hancock demanded.

Bartlett spoke up. "It could be that they're having trouble with their royal governor. I hear he's fervently opposed to our meeting."

Franklin discretely gave Hopkins a nudge and the latter immediately began calling for more rum.

**Saturday May 18, 1776**

Adams had discovered that writing letters was one way to make the time that he was wasting in Congress NOT attempting to advance the cause of independency go much faster. Franklin had suggested that he simply not attend if it were bothering him so much (not that Adams had admitted as much but somehow Franklin always knew) but Adams just couldn't bring himself to do that. It was deeply unprofessional to just skip a day when he had no valid reason to do so and he suspected that Dickinson would try something nefarious the moment he wasn't here to stop him.

"I must say," Livingston remarked to Sherman, "that I do so admire your ability to get out of having to ever write anything."

"Thank you," Sherman said modestly. "It's really not very difficult, though."

"What is your secret?" Livingston wondered aloud. "Or would it ruin it if you told me?"

"It's not really a _secret_, exactly," Sherman said with a shrug. "I just remind them that I've had no formal education. Think about everyone here. They've studied at Harvard, at William and Mary, from Middle Temple…If you remind them of your lack of formal education then they start to get nervous and realize that they actually wanted to write whatever it was you don't want to write after all."

"I suppose that could work," Livingston said thoughtfully. "Not for me, of course, because I attended King's College."

"It's not always a guarantee," Sherman cautioned. "I mean, Dr. Franklin received maybe a year of formal education and yet good luck convincing someone that _he's_ not capable of writing something."

"I suppose you have a point," Livingston agreed. "But what if you actually do want to write something?"

"Well, I haven't yet," Sherman replied. "And if I do then I won't be able to use my 'I can't do it' excuse anymore. But if I did I could always show them a sample of my writing or just not remind them of fact that most of my education was informal."

"I wonder if I have anything that could get me out of having to write something," Livingston mused.

"Didn't you say that your wife was pregnant?" Sherman queried.

Livingston blinked. "Indeed, she is. Why would that matter?"

"There are all sorts of reasons you could have to go before the baby is born and even afterwards at a moment's notice," Sherman declared. "Here, I'll help you think of some…"

**Monday May 20, 1776**

If he were fortunate, today Lee had almost finished up in Williamsburg and was going to be heading back to Philadelphia soon enough…provided that he didn't stop to see his wife again or get caught up in a stirring speech about how he was going to hurry back and deliver the resolution without actually making any move to leave.

"You know," Chase remarked in between bites of whatever it was that he was eating. "It has occurred to me that it's been nearly two weeks now since Adams has said more than a handful of words."

Good God, not _this_ again! It had only been a week since the last time they had gotten concerned.

"I hadn't noticed," Dickinson claimed. "But you're right: last week was probably the most productive week we'd ever had. I had thought that we were just trying to keep our mind off the heat wave but now that you mention it, it could just be the lack of New England noise."

If Adams managed to remain silent, it was only because he had happened to catch Franklin's unimpressed expression. Clearly Franklin didn't think that he could refrain from answering Dickinson and getting into another fight and accidentally bringing up independence, did he? Well, he would show him. The word 'independence' had not been heard in the chambers since that day Wilson had monologue at Jefferson.

"Hm…" Hancock studied Adams. "He _looks_ okay but this is quite an unusual phenomenon."

"Oh, you know Johnny," Hopkins said dismissively. "He'd never admit to being sick if he's got something he thinks is more important to do."

"Mr. Hopkins is right," Rutledge spoke up. "And so I call for a vote to see if we should send Mr. Adams home so that he might recuperate."

"A vote?" Hancock asked, surprised.

Rutledge nodded. "Yes, he will not go voluntarily and if he really is the patriot that he claims to be then he will have to accept the decision of this Congress."

"I do _not_ need to be sent home," Adams grated.

"That is for the Congress to decide," Rutledge said. He looked pointedly at Read who stood up. Before Read could speak, however, someone beat him to the punch.

"I second the motion!" Wilson all but shouted.

"Pennsylvania cannot second its own-" Hancock began automatically before stopping. Stunned, he continued, "But it _can_ second South Carolina's. Very well. Mr. Thompson?"

**Tuesday May 21, 1776**

Adams had only very narrowly avoided being sent home the previous day. That traitor Franklin had been in favor of it (it was for his own good apparently) but Dickinson had surprisingly stepped in and voted to keep him there…which had almost made Adams want to go home after all until he realized that that was probably Dickinson's nefarious plan to get him out of Congress so he could do something else equally nefarious!

"Adams," Dickinson declared – and almost gave the eavesdropping Adams a heart attack – "is up to something."

"Really?" Wilson asked, blinking.

Dickinson nodded. "Really. He tried to rally us all to support his treason on May 8th and now he hasn't said a word outside of trying to assure us that he's fine."

"So you're suspicious of Mr. Adams because he isn't doing anything?" Wilson asked, confused.

"It _does_ sound a little farfetched," Dickinson admitted. "But did you see those letters he keeps writing? It has to mean something. _No one _has that much to say to their wife. And do we really want to allow ourselves to be lulled into a false sense of security only to have him reveal his incendiary plan when we least suspect it?"

Just because Dickinson apparently had so little to say to his own wife that was in the same colony as him was no reason to think that he couldn't think of plenty to write to Abigail. In fact, his hand often began to cramp up before he was able to finish everything he wanted to say to her.

Wilson waited a moment to see if Dickinson was really looking for an answer. "No?" he finally ventured once it appeared that he was. Dickinson continued to say nothing and so he felt secure enough to continue with, "After all-"

"No, indeed," Dickinson promptly interrupted. "I, for one, will not lower my guard no matter _how_ quiet he is…although I do hope that it is for a few more days, at least, as it's nice to be able to leave a session of Congress without a headache."

Adams was clenching his fists so hard to avoid saying anything that he began to draw blood.

"But, John, what exactly do you think he's trying to do?" Wilson inquired.

Dickinson hesitated. "I'm…not quite sure. Maybe he hopes to keep quiet about independency for so long that they'll stop associating him with it and be more open to supporting it?"

Wilson laughed. "He'd need to keep quiet for a good long while, then…"

Dickinson grinned. "And in the meantime, think of all we'll get done!"

Adams did so dislike him.

**Wednesday May 22, 1776 **

Despite how 'productive' Dickinson insisted they were being (and by Adams' standards, they really weren't), Adams was really starting to wish that Congress didn't meet six days out of the week.

Franklin had been fortunate to approach Jefferson right after he had given the daily weather report and thus was actually guaranteed to be paying attention. Adams found it a bit alarming how easily the man could lose focus. Alarmed and a little envious, honesty, given his current predicament.

"Being from Pennsylvania myself, I don't have to worry about the problems other people are having with missing their homes," Franklin remarked. "I did spend a great many years in London but, well, that's hardly a hospitable location today."

"No, I imagine it wouldn't be," Jefferson said dryly.

"Like I was saying, I'm not far from home but Virginia is over 200 miles away," Franklin continued. "And you've been to every Congress session for…why, I don't even remember. Months!"

Jefferson frowned. "Now that I think of it, you're right. I went home for Christmas and came back after the beginning of the year…I haven't been home these five and a half months."

"Oh, that is awhile," Franklin told him. "And you're so young…are you married?"

Jefferson nodded. "To the most wonderful woman in the world," he said dreamily. "I really should go and see her…"

"When? Now?" Franklin inquired.

Jefferson looked torn. "I _want_ to but Lee already went back two weeks ago and I can't leave the Congress without a representative from Virginia."

"You could always go when he gets back," Franklin suggested.

"That _is_ an idea," Jefferson said, pleased. "I just hope it won't be too much longer."

"Out of curiosity, what is your wife's name?" Franklin asked, trying to sound casually.

Jefferson saw right through him. "Mrs. Jefferson."

**Thursday May 23, 1776**

Adams was quite surprised to look up and spy Franklin at the Pennsylvania table for once. He usually sat in a corner, supposedly for the sake of his foot and so he could observe in peace. Personally, Adams thought he might have been a bit embarrassed that he was part of the delegation that led the fight against independence when he was so strong an advocate as to even being alienated from his own son because of it. His own _loyalist_ son, granted, but his son all the same. Dickinson wasn't at the table but Wilson was.

"I just find it remarkable, really," Franklin declared.

Wilson eyed him suspiciously. "What do you find so remarkable, doctor?"

"What?" Franklin asked, looking for all the world like he hadn't expected to have been overheard by the person he was sitting right next to. "Oh, don't mind me."

"No, I insist," Wilson said monotonously after it became clear that Franklin was waiting for him to prompt him.

"Well, I was just thinking about the recent votes we've taken and how in every single one your opinions has perfectly lined up with that of Mr. Dickinson's," Franklin explained.

"What's so remarkable about that?" Wilson asked warily.

"I just find it unusual for two people to be so in harmony," Franklin told him. "I mean, for the big issues then yes I can see why you'd have already talked about it but for the smaller things? Things like whether Mr. Hopkins should be kept from the rum, whether the Rhode Island militia should wear matching uniforms, and even whether our dear Mr. Adams should go home and rest?"

"What are you getting at?" Wilson demanded.

Franklin shrugged, looking innocent. "Nothing, nothing. I just would have expected that since Mr. Dickinson and I tend to disagree and you are the one who decides which side Pennsylvania will side with you might need to be consulted once in awhile. If it's the case that you two are so attuned to each other that this is unnecessary-"

"It is," Wilson interrupted, which didn't often happen (both Wilson interrupting someone and Dr. Franklin being cut off himself). "Now, I beg your pardon but I do have something pressing to do over here..." He quickly stood up and made his way to the opposite side of the room.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Franklin lied.

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own 1776.

Note: It occurred to me while I was writing this that I feel _really_ bad for Judge Wilson. Not bad enough to treat him any better, mind you, but hey, it's canon…

**Friday May 24, 1776**

It had now been sixteen days since Lee had left so had he just been planning on going back to Virginia and then immediately turning around, he would be expected to return that very day. Unfortunately, since he had mentioned seeing his wife and would need to convince the House of Burgesses to pass a resolution, Lee would not be back just yet. Still, Adams felt confident that the majority of the time he needed to wait was over.

He could do this.

His newfound resolve was almost immediately put to the test when he saw Rutledge 'gentlemanly' make his way over to the Pennsylvania table and then completely ignore Wilson (which might have been a bigger deal if virtually everyone else didn't do the same thing). It wasn't that Rutledge actually described his actions thus, but he tended to talk about all of his actions like that.

"Mr. Dickinson, I have been meaning to tell you how much I admire the way you stick to your principles," Rutledge informed him. "I know that Mr. Adams does sometimes…" he trailed off, clearly looking for a tactful way of putting it. "Get a little enthusiastic but you remain forever cool and considerate."

Dickinson smiled at him. "Thank you kindly, sir. It means a lot to have the good opinion of a respectable southern gentleman like yourself."

Now Rutledge was beaming the way he always did whenever someone that wasn't actually himself called him a gentleman. "The pleasure is all mine. I only wish that I had had found more gentlemen like yourself outside of the fair colony of South Carolina."

"If the people of South Carolina are that refined then I should dearly like to go there one day," Dickinson replied.

Good God, were they going to stand around congratulating each other all day?

"You would like it," Rutledge declared. He eyed Dickinson's green frock coat. "And I can see that you are a man of taste so I think that the fashions down there would interest you greatly."

Dickinson nodded towards Rutledge's trademark white attire. "I must confess, I am rather curious as to how you've managed to keep your own in such pristine condition throughout this dreadful heat wave."

Was this really what his enemies in Congress were reduced to without his participation? They were lucky that they had him, really. He clearly kept their lives interesting.

**Saturday May 25, 1776**

Adams just had to keep reminding himself that after today's session was over, he was free all of tomorrow. It was strange but despite the fact he had yet to have missed a session of Congress, he had never found time passing slower than it had since he had promised Franklin that he'd keep his mouth shut until Lee returned. Maybe it wasn't his fault. Maybe he was just surrounded by some extraordinarily dull fellow congressman.

"So I hear that you're planning on going back home to visit that lovely young wife of yours," Hopkins remarked.

Jefferson didn't move.

Hopkins looked around and Adams quickly glanced away. He turned back in time to see Hopkins discretely pour a few drops of rum down Jefferson's neck.

Jefferson jumped and looked around.

Hopkins quickly drained the rest of his glass then set it down innocently. "So I hear that you're planning on going back home to visit that lovely young wife of yours," he repeated.

"Yes, I am," Jefferson said, giving Hopkins a confused look. "But I'm not quite certain why that is of interest to you."

"Well, I'm not dead, am I?" Hopkins asked rhetorically. "A pretty girl, even one I have only heard of, is something of interest to me, surrounded as I am by a distinct lack of females."

"What makes you say that my wife is pretty?" Jefferson asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

Hopkins laughed. "Please. I doubt that any of the men in here – except maybe for Judge Wilson – could not manage to convince a pretty girl to marry him."

"True," Jefferson agreed. "And my wife is very pretty. But aren't you married yourself?"

Hopkins nodded. "Indeed I am."

"Then why all the interest in my wife instead of your own?" Jefferson inquired.

Hopkins laughed again. "I love my Anne dearly but she's fifty-nine years old and that should explain that. How old is your bride?"

"Twenty-eight," Jefferson admitted.

To Adams' surprise, Hopkins immediately threw his arms up in the air. "Success! I got more out of him than Ben did!"

Come to think of it, his allies were really lucky to have him as well.

**Monday May 27, 1776**

Adams had really needed the day off. Unfortunately, he had begun to worry that Lee himself might decide to take Sundays off as well and just add more time to his trip. Surely he wouldn't be so silly, would he?

"Mr. President," Rutledge drawled.

"Yes, Mr. Rutledge?" Hancock inquired as he swatted a particularly large fly.

"It has occurred to me that one more week has passed with nary a sound from our dear colleague form the colony of Massachusetts," Rutledge explained. "I am starting to get seriously concerned here."

He was starting to run out of frivolous topics of conversation but didn't want to admit it, more likely.

"I thought we had settled this last week," Hancock said, frowning over at Adams like it was suddenly his fault that these people didn't have anything better to do. Even the president had the sense to bring a newspaper every day.

"We did," Rutledge agreed easily. "But that was one week ago and Mr. Adams is _still_ not speaking. It would be most ungentlemanly of us not to be concerned."

Hancock gave a long-suffering sigh and the frown he directed in Adams' direction deepened. Adams idly wondered if he was now being blamed for nominating Hancock for President of Congress in addition to failing to nominate him for Washington's job. "Mr. Adams, are you feeling quite well?"

"I am," Adams replied curtly.

"We have, I believe, already established that Mr. Adams' word cannot always be trusted on matters of his health owing to his great dedication," Rutledge quickly argued.

"Mr. Adams, could you please enlighten us as to the reason that you have been so uncharacteristically quiet these past few weeks if you are not ill?" Hancock requested.

"Have I been unusually quiet?" Adams asked, feigning surprise. "I'm afraid I hadn't noticed."

"Well everyone else has," Chase announced.

"If my reticence concerns you then I apologize but I simply haven't much to say," Adams lied, watching Franklin enjoy every moment of this.

"I'm sure that if the lack of Mr. Adams' voice is such a problem we can simply give him something to read aloud while we carry on," Franklin suggested jovially. "When was the last time Mr. Thomson got the day off? We can give Mr. Adams' his job."

There were times when Adams wondered why he willingly associated himself with Franklin. The man was an absolute sadist.

**Tuesday May 28, 1776**

If Adams had ever doubted that these people desperately needed him (which he hadn't) then he would have no more cause to doubt after the way they apparently gave up even the pretence of getting anything done.

"Mr. President?" Morris spoke up.

Hancock started at the sight of a member of the New York delegation actually having something to contribute. "Yes, Mr. Morris?"

"I'm fairly certain that my drink is near boiling point. Can we please open up a window in here?" he implored.

"If we opened up a window then the flies would get in," Hewes pointed out.

"That may be," Morris acknowledged. "But the temperature would be more bearable and so I feel that it would be worth it."

"Well I-" Hewes started to say before Rutledge put a hand on his arm. "North Carolina respectfully yields to South Carolina."

"I do not feel that it would be worth it at all," Rutledge said, shaking his head as he stood. "The temperature is merely uncomfortable. Flies are filthy, annoying creatures that noisily buzz everywhere and get in people's way. Not to mention the sanitation issues this raises as flies land in all sorts of unclean places and may also land on any one of us or any of the food or drink we are consuming."

Chase looked a little ill at that but Hopkins just shrugged and began to chug his drink.

Bartlett stood. "Those flies may be annoying but they can be shooed away and ignored far easier than the blistering heat. Our productivity will suffer if we don't open a window, flies or no flies."

It struck Adams suddenly that everyone's position in the gripping flies versus heat debate (of which he did not particularly care to take part of but, if forced to choose, would favor an open window) was divided along sectional lines. It was probably because, if Rutledge and Hewes could be believed, the current temperature wasn't bad by Southern standards but the flies annoyed everybody.

"Why don't we try to compromise?" Jefferson asked, surprisingly actually paying attention to the debate. Why he picked the one time they weren't even remotely working to listen in and actively participate was beyond Adams.

"Compromise sounds like an excellent idea," Hancock said, pleased. "What kind of a compromise do you have in mind, Mr. Jefferson?"

"We can try alternating days that the window is open and closed until the heat wave passes," Jefferson suggested. "One day it is open, the next day it is closed. It won't completely please everybody but everyone should get their way a good half of the time."

The delegates seemed to like that and for a moment it seemed like the 'crisis' had resolved itself.

"Well, will the window be open or shut today?" Rodney just _had_ to ask.

**Wednesday May 29, 1776**

The window was shut today as Colonel McKean (or, to be more accurate, his ever-present gun) had won a fly-filled day yesterday. At least now that that was over, Congress would hopefully have to actually stay on task today…or find increasingly ridiculous things to waste their time on. Adams felt the probability of each was roughly equal.

As Jefferson was paying attention again (two days in a row was just bizarre, in Adams' opinion) and Dickinson was busy with Rutledge again, Wilson had gravitated over to Hewes.

"There they go again," he said, shaking his head in mild amusement.

"Indeed," Hewes said shortly. "Edward is becoming great friends with Mr. Dickinson."

Wilson flushed. "I…well, of course I knew that. I was merely remarking upon it."

"A true gentleman never feels the need to state the obvious," Hewes said sanctimoniously.

Adams knew for a fact that Hewes – and Rutledge for that matter – pointed out the obvious all the time.

Wilson's blush deepened and he cleared his throat before changing the subject. "Do you ever get the feeling that we're not really appreciated?"

So it seemed that Wilson had seen a kindred spirit in Hewes as well.

It was rather unfortunate that if the snobby look that Hewes was giving Wilson was any indication than this perceived similarity was entirely one-sided. "I'm afraid I cannot say that I do. Edward has always made it clear just how much he appreciates and values my friendship. It's the gentlemanly thing to do, you know, and since Mr. Dickinson is a gentleman himself I cannot possibly imagine _why_ he wouldn't make the same clear to you."

Wilson looked down at his shoes for a long while before risking a glance at Jefferson who was back in his own world. "I'll just be going now…" he said before retreating to Virginia's table.

Adams wondered what Wilson would do when Lee finally came back. **If** he ever came back.

**Thursday May 30, 1776**

So today was the day. Three weeks had finally passed and according to Adams' ideal schedule, Lee should be back today. Unfortunately, Adams knew very well that he didn't live in a perfect world or he wouldn't have had to rely on Lee to get a resolution on independency anyway and so he feared that the pompous Virginian would not be back today.

Hopkins had surprisingly sat down next to Chase who looked like he might be stuck again.

"You eat a lot," Hopkins began unceremoniously.

Chase gave him a dirty look. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

Hopkins looked surprised. "No? I guess that explains why you keep doing it, then. You would think that you would realize it when you had to call for more food but I guess people can do all sorts of things without really paying attention.

Chase shook his head. "No, I just meant…never mind. So I eat a lot. Your point being?"

"No one ever really says anything to you about it," Hopkins continued.

"Mr. Adams bring it up at least twice a month," Chase disagreed. "In fact, his failure to do so was actually why I first got concerned about him. And you're doing so right now."

"I honestly don't care how much you choose to eat or when," Hopkins declared.

Chase rolled his eyes. "Then why bring it up at all?"

"So I could remark upon nobody every remarking upon it," Hopkins explained.

"…Except that in doing so you yourself are remarking upon it thus belying your statement," Chase pointed out.

Hopkins shrugged. "Well, except for me right now and Mr. Adams twice a month when he's not sick, nobody ever brings it up."

"Oh, except for Mr. Rutledge when he's remarking about fashions and Mr. President when he thinks my eating gets disrupting," Chase added.

Hopkins closed his eyes. "Well, aside from all of _that_…the point is that people don't bring up your eating half as often as they bring up my drinking and you eat just as much as I drink."

"I think that about sums it up, yes," Chase said with a nod.

"Why is that?" Hopkins demanded. "It doesn't seem fair, really."

Chase shrugged. "I guess my eating is less obtrusive than your drinking. I don't get drunk off of my food and it takes longer to eat than it takes you to drink something so I'm not perpetually calling for more the way you do. Not to mention that your seat is up in front where everyone can see you while I sit in the back."

Hopkins waved all of that aside. "But aside from all of that, what's the difference? It's discrimination against New England, that's what it is…"

**Friday May 31, 1776**

It was the last day of the month. Adams had hoped that quietly waiting would have just been a May affair but if Lee did not return today then that would clearly not be the case. The idea of branching out into another month made him distinctly uncomfortable as then it seemed like there was no definitive end in sight.

"I have good news and bad news," Livingston announced. "Which one would you like to hear first?"

"The bad news," Morris decided. "That way the good news will be more inspiring rather than the bad news taking away all the joy from the good news."

Livingston frowned. "I really think that the good news loses most of its meaning if it's not given before the bad news but, well, if you're sure…The bad news is that the New York legislature's instructions to us are to wait for further instructions."

Morris rubbed his forehead like he was beginning to get a headache. "And the good news?"

"We've finally received instructions from the New York legislature," Livingston said dryly.

"You're right, that would have made more sense the other way around," Morris decided. "Although then my hopes would have been raised and so I was really right about that."

"What do you think about our new instructions?" Livingston inquired.

"I'm actually wondering why they bothered to send us instructions telling us that we're supposed to keep waiting," Morris confessed.

"I'm not entirely sure as to the purpose of that myself," Livingston admitted. "But maybe they wanted to let us know that even though they're being absolutely useless, they haven't forgotten about us?"

"I would almost prefer that they _had_ forgotten about us," Morris admitted. "At least that way we could remind them that we existed and then hopefully get something worthwhile out of them."

"Getting something out of the New York legislature, that's crazy talk," Livingston scoffed. "Odds are that when I go back home for the birth of my child they'll just tell me that my new instructions are to continue waiting for further instruction."

"I wouldn't put it past them at this point," Morris decided. "And I think that we should probably keep this new development quiet. Think of how the other colonies would react to this news."

They were quiet for a moment.

"Do you ever think about just defecting to New Jersey and being _their_ representatives?" Livingston asked suddenly, gesturing to the still-vacant table for the New Jersey delegation.

"Every. Single. Day," Morris replied grimly.

**Saturday June 1, 1776**

And so it was officially June with no word from Lee. Adams looked around for Franklin so that he could complain to him about the unfairness of it all at some point but it took him quite awhile to locate him as he was actually sitting at the table he was supposed to be at. And, what's more, _Dickinson_ was there as well. For all that everybody kept asking about his own health, Adams was honestly starting to wonder if they should be inquiring after Franklin's instead.

To Adams' eternal horror, Dickinson seemed to have the same idea. How was he supposed to disagree with Dickinson when they happened to have the same opinion?

"Dr. Franklin, I see that you have seen fit to join us today," Dickinson drawled.

Franklin titled his head. "I don't see what you mean. I show up in Congress every…well, maybe not _every_ day but certainly on most days."

"That you do," Dickinson acknowledged. "But you don't always show up at the Pennsylvania delegation's table."

"It's my foot, you see," Franklin claimed. "Some days the swelling is worse than others and I just must have a stool to rest it on. It's easier and less obtrusive if I just sit over in the corner when that happens."

"Ah, yes. It is your _foot_," Dickinson seemingly agreed though his tone made it clear that he didn't believe that for a second.

Franklin stared at him. "Are you implying that my foot is not actually affected by gout?"

"No, I'm sure it is," Dickinson assured him. "Sometimes, at least."

"Sometimes?" Franklin repeated.

"It didn't seem to be bothering you a few days ago when I saw you dancing with that woman," Dickinson said flatly.

Franklin shrugged. "The pain is worse on some days than others. That day, like today, was a good day. But you were getting at something?"

Dickinson nodded. "I was. You have so many bad days, it seems, that you are virtually never at the Pennsylvania table. Really, one mightn't even know that you were a representative from this colony for all you act like it."

"How, exactly, do you propose I act more like a Pennsylvania delegate?" Franklin asked sharply. "Sitting here is not always the best idea and Judge Wilson ensures that you hold voting power."

"See, I think that that might be the issue," Dickinson told him. "You disagree with me on so many things and yet since James agrees with me, it almost seems like your presence is superfluous and it would be so easy to forget that you're not from one of the New England colonies instead."

Franklin usually liked to stay out of pointless arguments and Dickinson often took advantage of that but every now and then he pushed his luck and Adams loved it when that happened. Franklin smiled benignly and Adams knew that Dickinson was about to be completely shut down.

**Monday June 3, 1776**

Adams had almost convinced himself to stay home today and not attend Congress but he knew that if he did that then not only would Dickinson probably have gotten passed a resolution banning all of talk of independence from any future sessions but everyone would insist that he did it because he was ill as well. Besides, surely Lee would be back soon and how would it look if he simply couldn't be bothered to show up on the day that Lee returned?

"So today is Monday," Hancock noted.

"That would explain why we didn't have a session yesterday," Dickinson commented.

Hancock narrowed his eyes like he always did when Dickinson felt the need to make a smartass comment after he said something. "As yet another week has gone by that Mr. Adams isn't speaking and every Monday since this started we've all taken time to be concerned and to discuss the possibility that he is sick – which he will speak up to deny – I thought that perhaps we could get this out of the way first thing."

Adams rolled his eyes. They could laugh it up all they wanted because once Lee returned, he'd be back full force, Virginia resolution or no Virginia resolution.

"Not particularly, no," Read spoke up.

Several other Congressmen (including Rodney and McKean for once) nodded their agreement.

Hancock blinked in surprise. "Really? So despite the fact that the longer this drags on the more cause for concern it would be, no one is concerned? What, have you all just lost interest or something?"

Adams wondered if he should be insulted that they stopped caring or relieved that they'd presumably stop talking about it…once this conversation was over. Although, really, who said that he had to pick just one reaction?

"If I may, Mr. President," Rutledge said, standing up. "I think that my colleagues have all come to the same conclusion that I have about the matter."

Well, if Rutledge was talking about his _southern _colleagues then his conclusion was probably that it was in their best interest if Adams were to keep quiet. Of course, then he probably would have worked the word 'gentlemen' in there somehow.

"And that conclusion was?" Hancock prompted.

"Merely that it's been quite some time now and since Mr. Adams has not exhibited any symptoms aside from the quietness he is most likely not seriously ill and he does not wish to discuss the matter with us so it would be downright ungentlemanly not to respect his wishes," Rutledge explained.

"I see," Hancock replied. "And you all feel the same?"

Most of Congress nodded.

"And you're absolutely _sure_ that you won't bring this up later when we're in the middle of something else?" Hancock asked suspiciously. "Very well, then. Next order of business…"

**Tuesday June 4, 1776**

Adams had just found out that one of his letters to Abigail had been intercepted by the British. Fortunately, it was one of the ones he had written in Congress while he was waiting for the time to pass and Lee to get back and the British didn't seem to think the contents were interesting enough to publish or do anything else with. Adams wasn't surprised; he wouldn't have even bothered posting the letter if it weren't for the fact that he had spent three hours writing it. Still, he was annoyed that the British had done so either way and wished that they had a more reliable mail system.

A quick glance over the room showed him that something very strange was going on. Specifically, Franklin had crossed the invisible border dividing the northern and southern colonies and was merrily sitting with the South Carolinians. Adams had no idea why he would do such a thing – or why Franklin was spending so much time fraternizing with the enemy – and could only hope that they weren't about to start talking about _fashion_ like Dickinson had.

"I must say, sir, that that is a most striking purple coat," Rutledge complimented.

Good God.

"Thank you," Franklin returned. "I got it in Europe and one can usually count on them to be fashionable if not necessarily sensible."

"Not that an appreciation of fashion precludes one from being sensible, of course," Rutledge was quick to add.

"No, of course not," Franklin agreed. "After all, you did like my coat."

"I must admit, Dr. Franklin, that a part of me is jealous," Rutledge confided.

"Oh?" Franklin leaned forward. "Do tell."

"I do hope that you won't think that this is ungentlemanly of me," Rutledge prevaricated.

"_Never_," Franklin promised.

"Well, living as you do in Philadelphia you have ready access to your entire wardrobe," Rutledge said reasonably. "While I was only able to take a select few items with me and so I had to replace most of my wardrobe…not that that did not have its benefits as well."

"Oh?" prompted Franklin politely.

"It's never truly a hardship to get the chance to peruse the wares of a new place," Rutledge responded. "In fact, I got one of my white suits right here in Philadelphia."

_One_ of? Adams decided right then and there that there were some things in this world that he simply did not want to know and any details of Rutledge's clothing damn near topped the list.

**Wednesday June 5, 1776**

After four long weeks of waiting for Lee, Adams had nearly managed to achieve a Jefferson-esque trance when Dickinson's voice reached his ears.

Though he wasn't paying any particular attention, the minute he heard the words 'olive branch petition' he jerked to attention. Dickinson and Wilson were standing at the window right behind his chair instead of the Pennsylvania table they were usually at.

"I don't know, John, the King rejected our last one," Wilson said. He kept trying to surreptitiously sneak looks at Adams but wasn't doing a very good job. Clearly this discussion was for his benefit. But why? To goad him? He wasn't going to fall for that, no matter how much he despised the naïve assumption that there would be any peace to be had with England. "He wouldn't even receive it."

"The King had seen Adams' remarks about how ridiculous he felt the petition was as well as news that we were preparing for war anyway and so didn't take us seriously," Dickinson said, an unusually hard edge to his voice.

Adams supposed that he was still smarting over the choice words he had written describing him. So maybe 'A certain great Fortune and piddling Genius whose Fame has been trumpeted so loudly, has given a silly Cast to our whole Doings' was a little harsh and its publication meant that everyone could see it (but not necessarily connect it to Dickinson since he hadn't named him) but it was supposed to have been a _private _letter. Besides, the whole thing had been a year ago so what good was it to keep dwelling on that when there were newer offenses they had given the other? Adams assumed that he was still dwelling as that had been around when Dickinson had ceased treating him with the respect he gave his other opponents in Congress and instead labeled him as an incendiary madman.

"Now we actually _are_ at war," Wilson pointed out.

"That is true," Dickinson conceded. "And Massachusetts insists that we keep Mr. Adams among our number. Still, with a few modifications given our changed circumstances, another petition may do us good and it will be far better for us to seek a reconciliation with England on our own terms and not wait for them to force it upon up by seizing control of the colonies."

Damn. Adams hated it when Dickinson had a point. If Washington could be believed (though Adams always took what he said with a few grains of salt) then there was every chance that that could happen. Still, he could really only worry about one thing at a time so they could try to find European allies _after_ they achieved independence…if Lee ever arrived with that resolution.

**Thursday June 6, 1776**

Adams was staring suspiciously at Dickinson so that he could be sure not to miss any more loyalist activity or conversation (though he wasn't entirely sure if Dickinson had meant what he said or was just trying to provoke him) when Hopkins stumbled into the room, laughing hysterically.

"I love this Congress, I really do," he giggled. "Not so crazy about this heat wave, though. I-I move to end it!"

_Disgusting_.

"I second the motion," Wilson said automatically.

Dickinson rolled his eyes. "James, you can't just vote the heat wave gone. If we could, I assure you that we would have done that when it first started to get uncomfortable."

"Give the man credit where it's due, Mr. Dickinson," Franklin told him. "At least he seconded someone else's colony's motion for a change."

Dickinson nodded, conceding the point.

Hancock's eyes widened in horror. "Mr. Mcnair, check on the congressional supply of spirits."

Mcnair practically flew from the room.

Hopkins tried to make his way to his usual seat but since he normally sat way on the other side of the room and was barely able to stay on his feet, he had a little difficulty and somehow managed to literally run into each and every member of the Congress at least once before he tripped over his chair.

"That's a really nice chair," Hopkins decided from the floor. "But I can't say I really approve of it attacking me like that." He managed to pull himself into a sitting position and, leaning against the wall, promptly passed out.

Mcnair ran back into the room. "The door was open and a good half of our store is gone!"

"I think we can safely assume that we know what has happened to it," Hancock said dryly, eyeing the unconscious Hopkins.

"Mr. President, this has gone on for long enough," Bartlett declared. "I understand the rationale for providing rum for the members of this Congress – even if I do not agree with it – but you cannot deny that Mr. Hopkins has been abusing the privilege since the beginning and now he's gone and depleted half of our stores."

"There aren't any regulations on rum consumption here," Hancock said thoughtfully. "I really hadn't thought that we would need them but I can see now that we evidently do. Alright, does anyone have any objections to taking the time to work out what is and is not allowed as far as spirit consumption in Congress is concerned?"

Adams had quite a few objections to wasting valuable time discussing such petty matters but it wasn't as if they really had anything better to do anyway.

**Friday June 7, 1776**

Thirty days. It had been thirty days. Nearly one solid month had elapsed and Adams honestly did not know how much longer he could stand it.

"Franklin, where's that idiot Lee?" he demanded as he stormed into the room. "Is he back yet? I don't see him."

Franklin was acknowledging his gout today, it seemed, and he winced. "Softly, John. Your voice is hurting my foot."

"One more day, Franklin," Adams threatened as he slowly made his way away around the room, trying to walk off some of his energy. "That's how long I'll remain silent, not a minute longer. That strutting popinjay was so damn sure of himself…he's had time to bring back a dozen proposals by now."

Dickinson perked up at his words. "Tell me, James: how do you explain the strange, monumental quietude that Congress has been treated to these past 30 days?" he asked loudly, clearly not actually trying to have a private conversation with Wilson. "Has the ill wind of independence finally blown itself out?"

All eyes were on Wilson for once and he smiled as he stood to reply. "Well, if you ask me-"

Dickinson wasn't, really. "For myself, I must confess that a month free from New England noise is more therapeutic than a month in the country," he interrupted. Half-heartedly, he added, "Don't you agree, James?"

And Wilson fell for it again. "Well, I feel-"

"Mr. Adams, pray look for your voice, sir," Dickinson entreated with a smirk. "It cannot be far, and God knows we need the entertainment in this Congress."

The entire southern half of the Congress and a few of the northern members laughed loudly at that. Adams stared hard at Dickinson for a moment, attempting to bite down any of the numerous retorts that were springing unbidden to his mind. He had no idea when Lee was planning on returning – if he ever did – but he was so close to being done with the period he had agreed to wait for. Lee or no Lee, he only had to stay quiet one more day and he would not give Franklin the satisfaction of seeing him fall short so close to his goal.

With a great deal of effort, Adams managed to silently spin around and stalk back towards Franklin.

"Congratulations, John," Franklin said brightly, as unsympathetic as ever. "You just made your greatest contribution to Independence: you kept your flap shut."

Adams held out a finger. "One more day, Franklin, then I shall do the proposing."

If he didn't, God knows the strain just might kill him.

Note: The dialogue for the seventh came from the movie.

Review Please!


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